Always A Slave
by terribleramen
Summary: You are ALWAYS a slave to something, and Todd Casil is no different. He's just a little more... 'unstable'. Rated for character death and a bit of language. Angsty poem at the end. Whee. One-shot.


**Hey everyone who obviously clicked on this story!**

**I was writing a small little poem, and it turned into this. OH HAPPY DAY.**

**Enjoy... :)**

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Always A Slave

. . .

I looked up back one last time from the place I used to call home.

I was leaving -no, wait...they were taking me away.

My parents yelled at me and told me that I needed help. With what, I may never know.

I got angry.

My parents disappeared. That's what Shmee said.

The people in white told me I needed to calm down.

But then Shmee was gone. Where he went, I can't remember.

They dragged me to an ambulance. There were cops everywhere.

I looked down. I was covered in red.

They threw me down and it all went black.

. . .

It's been six months since the incident.

They told me what happened. What I did. They said I couldn't help it that I was special. The people in white had taken me to my new home. It's nice here, but they don't let me leave. They say they're going to help me get better.

Right now, It's my creative time. I like this time of day. It's quiet.

I looked down at the poem I've been working on. It was good. I hoped to make this little rhyme about my time at the house.

The doctors had given me back Shmee, but after a few days of seeing me talk to him, they took him away and told me he was the source of my mental problems.

They said I'm unstable. That Shmee was a bad influence.

They lied...I know it. They don't know me. They've never spoken to Shmee. All they do all day is watch me and talk about how crazy I am.

That's why what I'm going to do is ok.

The nurse dropped her needle-syringe-thing filled with God-knows-what. This was my chance.

A while back, about the time I turned sixteen, Shmee told me about how I need to think about how to do things. He had told me it before, but sixteen was the year I finally accepted I would never be loved. Shmee finally took away that useless hope that my homicidal neighbor would come back. Shmee had also mentioned how Johnny had always had the 'right idea' about stuff, which was strange since Shmee always hated Johnny, as Johnny had hated him.

I grabbed the pointy thing and stabbed the nurse. She quickly grabbed a pocketknife and stabbed me back. I kicked her in the face to the outside hall's hard wall, and watched her bleed. I felt like something in the back of my mind was egging me on, telling me I wont get caught.

I grabbed the knife from her as she cried tears of blood.

I stabbed her. Again. Again. Again. She stopped screaming.

I stopped and stared at what I did. I dropped the knife and ran out the nearest door. The next door. The next one. I made it outside, but I kept running. I don't know where I thought I was going, but I wouldn't go back.

All the way, I heard the voice in my head getting louder, almost multiplying.

"You did it." it said.

"Yes. Run to the source. The home. Let your instinct guide you." there were two voices. Neither were Shmee, though.

"You're just like him. Maybe better." who are they talking about?

I stopped running, looking up with wide eyes at where I had ended up.

It was his house.

The house that had once held the person who gave me an awful amount of nightmares in my childhood.

The house where he killed.

I stood for...I don't know how long...until I went inside.

I felt almost like a puppet who's strings were being pulled downstairs torwards the basement.

I started running, stopping at one of the floor's walls. I looked for a light. I found one and almost wished I hadn't.

Blood. There was dried blood on the wall. A lot of it.

On the wall next to it, there were knives of all shapes and sizes. Used knives.

I turned around to see corpses on contraptions you'd see in a horror movie where no one survives. The corpses were not fresh. I walked torwards them, almost tripping over a suitcase with many stickers and a label. It had said 'Jimmy'.

I started to walk up the stairs, deciding to skip my closer look at the long-time dead when I heard the voices.

"Come back." one said, very quietly.

I obeyed, walking torwards the bloody wall.

"See that paintbrush?" it asked me. I nodded.

"I need you to do something for us..."

. . .

_I didn't ask to be like this._

_I didn't ask to live._

_I didn't ask to love this life._

_I never said I did._

_I hate the way they stare at me._

_I hate the way they laugh._

_I remember when I came here._

_They told me they were staff._

_They said that they would help me._

_They told me that they cared._

_But they always told me of my faults._

_It made me kind of scared._

_After a while the scares got worse._

_It turned to paranoia._

_I really felt quite cursed_

_and I didn't want the drama._

_After that it was horrible,_

_I couldn't go to sleep._

_The nightmares would come back._

_And I could only weep._

_I'd cry to myself._

_It'd turn into conversations._

_About the times._

_About the cooperation._

_How much I gave, of course._

_What else would you think?_

_Soon __the voice would yell_

_the voice would shriek._

_The voice first told me not to sleep._

_Did I mention that?_

_Did I not?_

_Did I tell you what I forgot?_

_Do you know what I remember?_

_Do you understand what I had thought?_

_Well anyways,_

_I'm getting off track._

_That happens quite a lot._

_Like my mood swings._

_Happy then sad._

_The doctor told me that is bad._

_He also told me if I tell_

_what he does I'll go to Hell._

_I don't like it._

_I don't think it's right._

_But if the ones in white tell me,_

_I shouldn't ever fight._

_They've tought me not to argue._

_They've tought me not to play in dirt._

_They told me not to bottle things up,_

_unless I really want to hurt._

_I know now that they are lying._

_No matter what they make me say,_

_I'll keep the feeling to myself_

_and save it for a rainy day._

_That's ok, right?_

_Keeping a secret?_

_The voice told me that it's fine._

_But to remember to never regret._

_The things I've done._

_The things I'll do._

_The things I hate about me and you._

_Like this poem no one will ever see._

_Like what I hate about the world._

_But I like how creativity makes me less...crazy._

_But who cares?_

_I'm filled with all this shit._

_I remember now what I should trust_

_is what no one would admit._

_Comfort goes away,_

_but fear is always there._

_A nightmare's scare dies off,_

_but the idea's in the air._

_Love has disappeared,_

_but hate is forever._

_You are always a slave to something._

_And the concept's pretty clever._

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Author's note: Thanks to a review, I read the poem again and edited a few lines. :)

So...TELL ME IF YOU LIKED IT!! I NEED TO KNOW! READ (check) AND REVIEW! DO IT!!! DO IT NOW!!!

**Thanks for reading! Please review -I want to know if i'm any good at rhyming...**

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